fightz

I need to not get all worked up and selfish about christmas because this happens:

bf: I ordered you a present last night!  I think you're going to like it.

me: Tattoo?  (joking and being "adorable")

bf: Noooo, it's not a tattoo.  I told you I can't afford that.  We'll have to be patient.

me: I've been patient...

bf: I know...

me: ... for like THREE YEARS.  I almost had enough saved this summer but then I lent it all to you.  

bf: Well your saving could have been going towards bills the whole time so really you were just making us behind!  

me: (SLAMS MICROWAVE AND EATS LEFTOVER TURKEY MOTIONLESS ON THE COUCH WHILE WATCHING THE DOG WHISPERER)

sarah's fireside chats: melatonin edition

Melatonin

Not to be confused with melanin or melanotan.

"Melatonin, also known chemically as N-acetyl-5-methoxytryptamine, is a naturally occurring hormone found in most animals, including humans, and some other living organisms, including algae. Circulating levels vary in a daily cycle, and melatonin is important in the regulation of the circadian rhythms of several biological functions. Many biological effects of melatonin are produced through activation of melatonin receptors, while others are due to its role as a pervasive and powerful antioxidant with a particular role in the protection of nuclear and mitochondrial DNA."

"Production of melatonin by the pineal gland is inhibited by light and permitted by darkness. For this reason melatonin has been called "the hormone of darkness" and its onset each evening is called the Dim-Light Melatonin Onset (DLMO). Secretion of melatonin as well as its level in the blood, peaks in the middle of the night, and gradually falls during the second half of the night, with normal variations in timing according to an individual's chronotype."


"Melatonin levels at night are reduced to 50% by exposure to a low-level incandescent bulb for only 39 minutes, and it has been shown that women with the brightest bathrooms have an increased risk for breast cancer.
Reduced melatonin production has been proposed as a likely factor in the significantly higher cancer rates in night workers, and the effect of modern lighting practice, including light pollution, on endogenous melatonin has been proposed as a contributory factor to the larger overall incidence of some cancers in the developed world."


"Many animals use the variation in duration and quantity of melatonin production each day as a seasonal clock. In animals and in some conditions also in humans the profile of melatonin synthesis and secretion is affected by the variable duration of night in summer as compared to winter. The change in duration of secretion thus serves as a biological signal for the organisation of daylength-dependent (photoperiodic) seasonal functions such as reproduction, behaviour, coat growth and camouflage colouring in seasonal animals. In seasonal breeders which do not have long gestation periods, and which mate during longer daylight hours, the melatonin signal controls the seasonal variation in their sexual physiology, and similar physiological effects can be induced by exogenous melatonin in animals including mynah birds and hamsters. Melatonin is also related to the mechanism by which some amphibians and reptiles change the color of their skin and, indeed, it was in this connection the substance first was discovered
"In animal models, melatonin has been demonstrated to prevent the damage to DNA by some carcinogens, stopping the mechanism by which they cause cancer. It also has been found to be effective in protecting against brain injury caused by ROS release in experimental hypoxic brain damage in newborn rats. Melatonin's antioxidant activity may reduce damage caused by some types of Parkinson's disease, may play a role in preventing cardiac arrhythmia and may increase longevity; it has been shown to increase the average life span of mice by 20% in some studies."

"Many supplemental melatonin users have reported an increase in vivid dreaming. Extremely high doses of melatonin (50mg) dramatically increased REM sleep time and dream activity in both narcoleptics and those without narcolepsy. However, one factor that may influence this perception is that many over-the-counter melatonin tablets also include Vitamin B6 (pyroxidine), which is also known to be capable of producing vivid dreams.
Many psychoactive drugs, such as LSD, increase melatonin synthesis. It has been suggested that nonpolar (lipid-soluble) indolic hallucinogenic drugs emulate melatonin activity in the awakened state and that both act on the same areas of the brain. It has been suggested that psychotropic drugs be readmitted in the field of scientific inquiry and therapy. If so, melatonin may be prioritized for research in this reemerging field of psychiatry."

"Melatonin has been studied for the treatment of alzheimer's disease, cancer, immune disorders, cardiovascular diseases, depression, seasonal affective disorder (SAD), circadian rhythm sleep disorders and sexual dysfunction. Studies by Alfred J. Lewy at Oregon Health & Science University and other researchers have found that it may ameliorate circadian misalignment and SAD. Basic research indicates that melatonin may play a significant role in modulating the effects of drugs of abuse such as cocaine."

some xmas list-time:

Or: a list of ridiculous frivolities I will not receive for xmas:

· tattoo

· Achewood books, any of them, all of them, specifically the cookbook.  I would also gladly receive and frequently wear a "Stoned Lightning" t-shirt.

· tattoo, it will probably be around $350?

· These hanging horn designs, in 7/16".  

· Additionally, these, probably in clear.  Also these.  

· TATTOO.

· A number of kitchen-type things, from a good knife set to a toaster oven that is not from the past and constantly in danger of bursting into flames.  Food processor/blender, tea pot, french press, rice/pressure cooker, crock pot, nice le creuset dishware, a real goddamn skillet, cutting boards, silpat/silicone baking implements, cookie sheet, containers, etc.

· Kitty things: a fountain, a solidly built play tree that doesn't look like total ass, or at least a new sisal scratching post.  

· This, in topaz.  It's on (deep breath) saaaaaaaaaaaaale.  There's no chart for the sizes on the site though so I don't know what the fuck.

· Drying Lotion or Buffering Lotion from here.  Quickly now before my skin frightens the children.

· Tattoo, please.

There, fantasy time is over for now.

4 months 3 weeks and 2 days

This movie.... goddamn this movie.

laurie anderson

strangely soothing.
her new stuff though, "beh"

what the

Seriously?  The twenty-fifth?  Where the hell have I been?  Why did I sleep so late?  Why haven't I done homework or been to class?  What is wrong?  

Apparently I'm in some kind of "wake me with the holidays are over" pit of quicksand.  I don't know what the fuck.  I can't do this.  Again.  

Can I turn in five final projects that are just like a tiny bottle of tequila taped to a single sheet of paper upon which I have carefully typed:

"I am really a very clever and interested person but I just cannot deal with this bullshit at this time.  I could, had I the mental wherewithal left, write a decently compelling and grammatically proper paper that wholly suits your requirements.  We both know this, but let's just skip that run-around, shall we?"        

  

I just stared at my vertical blinds as they gently waved in a pattern of hypnotizing shades for way too long.  

head

I didn't want to go to class today, anyway, but my head hurts like damnnnn and it feels good, for myself, to have a reason why I'm not there.  Besides general laziness.  I think it's mostly concentrated behind my left eye, which is now blurry.  The headache.  

I thought it was later than this.  My first class actually starts right... now.   I'm going to be killing myself with guilt by the end of the day.  I always am.  

Not everything is so tragic, it just feels that way.  In the morning.  Before coffee and cigarette.  I don't know where my midwestern work ethic goes.  I don't know how writing a one-paragraph project proposal becomes such a task by the simple fact that you don't give a fuck.  "Emily Dickinson was a lady who wrote some words."  I wonder if she feels her bones being picked by the clumsy hands of millions of american students.  I just die when I'm misinterpreted, and when I get all vague and bizarre it's not an uncommon occurrence.  And... you know.  You're here with me, I know that.  You understand.  

I want to hide for awhile but I can't, I need to but there's no place to go.  This headache is working out let's see about that coffee here, thanks for this time, this time we shared together.  thank-you for reading.  

Update: Hahaha I totally fucking forgot I don't even have one of my classes, today.

hi!

I am a post-mimosal woman.

I'm tired, scraping whatever barrels and getting only wet woody splinters.  When the barrel is empty it is a place to hide.  It is a place to liquefy and ferment and be drunk by Chinese emperors.

This is not about you, don't feel it, for me or for yourself.

I've been annoying me, and feeling fake everywhere, down to the flesh, of which there is always too much.  

This is not complaining, or a manifestation.  This is a manifestation.  This is a headache.

This is the pulp of the orange entering the body.  

This is never being comfortable.

This is an inability to remember comfort.

The fuck of it is:

I am bored.

I am bored.

I am bored.

I am bored.

I am I am

I am bored I am 

bored I am BORED

I AM BORED

I am BORED I AM BORED

I AM BORED I AM BORED I AM

BORED I AM 

BORED.

dream

In a small, shitty town surrounded everywhere by the tallest, prettiest mountains you ever seen, walking around there was too much ice and dirt on the ground and too many of those mexican carnicerias with paintings of pigs and chickens in the windows and red/green/white paper streamers hanging.  

There was an intense, videogame period where I was in my apartment there and the enemy was coming and I was trying to decide whether to hole up and defend or go to meet them; I think I ended up doing both, at the same time, dreams are odd in that way; branched surreality.

Then I was walking the streets of the town again, shopping, went into an antique-type store that was full of the usual decoratey things you see.  There were cats running all over, and one big motherfucker, mostly black with some white and golden eyes, was shaved on his sides and had been tattooed with a scene of two other cats, but like, "space-cats."  I was delighted by this.

I went to some more places that aren't interesting enough to write about (if there's some magical way somebody's actually reading this i don't think you really need to hear about me dreaming of wandering around giant warehouse dollar stores for hours looking carefully at off-brand body products and malformed sponges).

Then ended up at the ice cream store I used to work in between high school and college, since I apparently have to dream about that place a few times a year for the rest of my life.  Whenever I do dream about it, I'm always disgusted by changes they've made.  This time they had Chicken Ice Cream that didn't taste like anything because I was dreaming but it was "awful."  And the girl working wouldn't give me anything I wanted.  She asked to use my knife to cut the ice cream and I said "sure" and gave her my knife, and she just talked on the phone and cut hunks of chocolate on the counter while I waited, pissed off.

gasm

Went to the "Female O" talk.

There was a group of squirrely-lookin' dudes sitting in front of me who never took their sunglasses off, and would conspicuously high-five each other every time something saucy was said.  

Mostly I watched the girl with long ash-blonde hair sitting in front of me as she carefully ripped her program into perfect strips with pearl-painted fingernails.  I don't know how she was doing it.  It was amazing.

The female presenter asked girls (in the "girl-only" part) to talk about their first orgasm.  Only one girl shared (pool jet).  

Mine is weird but it went down like:

I was around 13, sleeping, like you do, and dreamed I was in a forest, all dark and teal-green with motes of light drifting around.  I was sort of flying and I zoomed in to this one enormous tree with tangled, exposed roots, and there was a woman reclined there, beautiful and pale, with long hair, and she looked up at me with big, empty anime eyes and then my vision went all short-circuit and I woke up well, you know.  

There you have it.

this professor

keeps sending e-mails basically urging me to drop his "Film Directors" class I'm in next semester.

Warning repeatedly how difficult it will be, etc.  

It's kind of working.

I just wanted to learn about Jean-Luc Godard, and have words to describe the way I love film.  

I'm wondering if A. would maybe do an independent poetry study with me instead.  Or would that be even more terrifying?

I'm out of coffee filters.  My stomach is eating itself in protest.  

feel quite clean

I don't have anything to say, but here I am.

I'm pretty good at thinking on the fly.  It's what college teaches you; college, to me, has two separate spheres of learning: Personal and, since I can't think of anything clever, Public.  Personal learning is what a person actually, actively absorbs in a class.  Public is the ability to make the instructor/university believe you learned what they think you should have learned.

I forgot where I was going with this.

I'm pretty irritated at having been signed up by my professor for a one-on-one conference 20 minutes before my class would have normally started.  It is a small annoyance.

This morning-time is the only time I've had alone for awhile.  

Don't read this: I am fat and horrible and fat and I hate myself. 

I'm sorry, had to get the girl feelings out.  In other girl news, it's been about two weeks since I've put on makeup.  Additionally, I do not care.  Not in a flippant, "makeup is for cunts" sort of way, but in a simple, uncaring manner.  

I watched Grindhouse in HD last night and had forgotten how good etc.  It is the last movie(s) I saw in the theatre.     

This is boring.  You're bored.

some kind of

in the sink there is

a shattered purple

pyrex bowl

it is some

kind of

metaphor.

Are you a knee-bouncing person?  When you're stuck sitting in a place for any period of time?  That is me.  It's getting bad.  I feel like everything I'm doing is a waste of my time.  I see professors getting these sour and disappointed looks.  You know what I mean?  The worst is when, "Oh I understand the difficulties students face!  I know it's 'that time' of the semester!  Here's another paper assignment.  Reading and response due friday."

God help me if I sit next to someone who's also a knee-bouncer.  We are off, to the moon.  !

Taking great pleasure in cooking, slowly, doing things right instead of just feeding myself.  Letting the potatoes get crispy and brown, a task of patience.  Thick blades cutting fibrous vegetation.  Sweet, mellow smells on my hands for-ever, like I been finger-banging the goddess of garlic.  Leaning against the counter, reading a novel, stirring.  

It's really the only time lately when I don't feel like something's missing.  

things I learned to do today

1. Bail someone out of jail.

sarah dreams of summer

ss office

Things seen today at the Social Security Office, a magical place I visit a few times a month for my job, to copy client files of exhibits that have been prepped for appeal hearings:

The man in front of me in the metal detector line had a hunk of metal in his wallet, about the size of a credit card but thick as a pancake and matte silver.  He claimed it was a piece of the U.S.S. Nebraska, and he "just couldn't resist" carrying it around.  The security men (who are always sprawled just so in their high stools and lolling of the head like fat, superior cats) mumbled to him that it was okay, but the man just kept standing there with this thing in his hands, the piece of metal, jabbering loudly and seriously about how he would never use it as a weapon, and he was sorry, sorry, sorry, and was still there apologizing when I passed him and went about my business.

Sitting one chair away from me in the waiting room was an older couple, the woman using a big fuck-you four-pronged medical cane and the man all obese with moustache and unironic nascar cap.  He was reading some kind of benign waiting room magazine and kept trying to tell the woman facts.  Sitting next to them was just like a constant stream of:

"Did you know there's a zoo in Atlanta that has video games for Oranga-tangs?"

"Huhhhh."

(pause)

"How'd you like to go sniffing for mines with a rat?  On a little leash?"

"What?"

"They've trained these big rats to smell explosives, see?"

"Hnnnhhhh."

(pause)

"Did you know that some N'aanderthals had genes for red hair?"

"Hmmmmm."

So there's the waiting room then the big vast expanse of cubicle spaces behind a locked door with two windows looking into the waiting room.  Behind the door, someone who I presume was some kind of employee was screaming into the phone.  Nothing really inflammatory, in fact he sounded like he was on a totally normal business call, but just screaming.  Everyone in the waiting room got that whole collective discomfort thing going on, where you sneak looks out of the corners of your eyes at each other to see if anyone else finds what's going on as fucking weird as you do.  

Where is this instinct from?  The "must affirm that fucked up thing is actually fucked up with peers" thing.  It is primal.  "That one is acting stupid and out-of-the-ordinary, let's collectively feel this way so he may never produce offspring."

I want to try this on the phone someday, just yell the conversation all ridiculously loud pretending like everything's totally professional.  

Today five (count 'em) older men made a big deal about holding a door for me.  

I must have looked very nubile.

when

was the last time I didn't

feel so

odd?

when was the last time somebody surprised me?

what was the first piece of gum I ever tasted,

and who told me to chew, and keep chewing?

lately i either feel like i'm about to have a heart attack or

kind of drifting around in solemn loops in the air, doing the normal things

but

not quite all here, or here, or here

how timely

the current bmezine front page photo is exactly what I was describing a couple posts ago.  

(editor's note: it's not anymore they changed it)

minus the nipple tape.

god i really really fucking want a cheek/dimple piercing if only it didn't look so stupid and scene

character idea

so i don't forget 'cause I'm a little well you know

poorly socialized fellow who is convinced that if he learns to perfectly replicate the art style of a long-syndicated troglodyte newspaper comic strip like Mary Worth or Beetle Bailey he will convince the artist to hire him to replace him or her (the author) when he or she dies, thus perpetuating the horror that is being desperately stuck in the '50s next to "Dear Dr. Gott" and "Star News" for all the world to see.

whenever i see those nasty-ass Dennis the Menace cartoons I taste the sour, watery brainfreeze of dairy queen treats.

waxen chocolate

death to bill keane

 

confessions, or: self-deprecation feels good

1·  I have always harbored a guilty, subtle affection for George W. Bush.  Not in that I liked him, or agreed with him on anything, or thought he wasn't fucking up social progress in significant ways, but there existed in his demeanor a childlike bewilderment with the world that I found endearing.  You could look at him and see a man who was totally not in control of things, and wasn't sure why, like a pig who's been strapped into a backhoe and told to operate it.  This feeling may have been pity, which I have frequently confused for affection in the past.  

2·  My first burgeoning sexual fantasies involved characters from Dragonball Z.  I invite you to guess which one in particular.  (this is a test of our friendship)

3·  Whenever I do or think about having done something stupid or embarrassing, I've always gotten a mental flash of am image of some sort of pain being inflicted upon me that helps make the bad feeling go away.  When I was in high school it was projectile vomiting on whatever was making me feel bad.  For the past year or so, though, it's been sliding an 8-gauge metal skewer through my cheeks, like, in one side and out the other, through my mouth from dimple to dimple.  Like those sideshow guys did on television specials in the '90s.  It would probably not actually be fun but in my mind the pain oh god so good and then my tongue's pinned down so I can't say anything retarded and the metal going clickclickclick on my teeth and the warm salty iron blood taste drooling out, and also it would look hell of scary.      

homework progress

"Sarah" enters stage left, appearing cold and slightly disheveled but maybe kind of pretty, you know, to someone unpretentiously bookish -- but interesting, and kind -- who thinks she is interesting, and kind.

Sarah: (opens 1.5-page draft of document that's been "in progress" for a month)

(looks over requirements, again)

(silently panics as steely clouds race over the horizon)

(by and by, drinks)

(END SCENE)

tzitzikas

i feel better here in the grass
where the thick stems crackle and spar
where it feels like falling off the earth
stuck to it with electric strands of
stubborn will
hairlike invisible filaments
from the fingers
when i touch you i know
you feel them
there are kind old women who care
who suggest to me
where to go
and where to place myself
and seem happy
and sometimes i listen
but mostly it’s the chirrup and hum
the red-tail wail
the green wet froggy chorus
and here down the path the
electric insect purr of
exoskeletons
and i can rub and stroke my body
the way they do
but i only make the noise
when you’re here my
coyote yips
my
gander cries

implacable fondness

my d

my   r

my    e

my     a

my     m

my       s

you're there

you're in

you're in me

in and

    i want

in my

you're in

you've always been

and always 

been

you'll always 

be

Fall-Back Into SADness

"The SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) season births its symptomatic depressive moods upon us generally around the same time when we turn our clocks back from standard to daylight savings time. The fall-back one hour change results in shorter daylight hours. For those of us who depend on sunshine to brighten our moods the shortened daylight makes us feel SAD, and are likely to continually feel even SADder as the season progresses. SAD hovers above our heads, its emotional clouds filled with feelings of depression, melancholy, and anxiety, as we do our best to muddle through each darkened day.


SAD Symptoms

Change in Sleep Patterns
oversleeping but not refreshed
cannot or reluctantly get out of bed
require afternoon naps
Depression
feelings of despair, misery, guilt, anxiety, hopelessness, etc.
normal tasks become frustratingly difficult
withdrawal from friends and family
avoiding company
crankiness or irritability
lack of feeling/emotion
constant state of sadness
Lethargy
decreased energy
everything an effort
decreased productivity
Physical Ailments
joint pain
stomach problems
lowered resistance to infection
weight gain
premenstrual syndrome (worsens or only occurs in winter)
Behavioral Problems
appetite changes (usually increased appetite)
carbohydrate craving
loss of interest in sex
difficulty concentrating
not accomplishing tasks


Seasonal Affective Disorder, also called Winter Depression, affects approximately 10 million people in the United States alone. Women are three times more likely than men to suffer from this disorder. People who live in colder climates have a higher incidence of SAD than do those who live in warm, sunny locations. It has also been documented that suicide rates are higher in places of increased light deprivation."

did you ever go all emo on a blog and feel like a fool?

did you ever

craft a persona who was

totally in control of the

situation?

did you see happiness

everywhere small

because there was no happiness

anywhere big?  

have you ever been

stuck?

have you ever been

drunk near every night

for two and a half 

years?

did you ever have

secrets you had to drown out

by screaming inside your

head?

and other secrets 

that secretly consumed your

reality?

were you ever

fucked over?

was it really your

fault?

don't much

care for my self

lately

nobody understands

when I try and explain 

what I assume 

is a deep spiritual connection with Jon Bon Jovi.

it is most probably

a pure accident of the cosmos

as I am not so much a fan

but he keeps being there

for no reason

for example

as a scrabble word the first time I got drunk

(only spelled "Bong")

and I wanted to kiss my friend

but couldn't, because i realized for the first time

i just couldn't, and wouldn't.

Whenever I think about him

the way thoughts stir into your head 

like settling leaves

I will hear one of his songs soon after.

Sometimes I'll have a memory of a good time

and suddenly realize the song my friends and i were singing

was by his band, when i didn't know before;

These are just

examples.

11.4.08

we drank champagne and cried

met the author before I read the memoir

I advise against it.  Now I can't shoo away the image of the adult man who spoke to my class as I'm reading and it's really a distracting experience.  

A jacket quip says he's the "David Sedaris of nature writing" or something and I was all like "pshaw" but his style is really pleasantly similar (anecdotal and self-deprecating with a taste of 21st century fantasy jump-cuts), just not as dirty as I like, probably.

I'm calming down, I was a bit of a mess earlier.  

becoming increasingly harder

to ignore all of the racist-ass "i hope u enjoy paying for my healthcare with your arab/socialist obama" facebook statuses of some aggressively retarded folk I went to high school with, and just delete them instead of engaging them in some kind of pointless waltz of impotent intelligence vs. mouth-foaming ignorance.

Maybe insulting them with their own language, in their own obtuse fashion, is the key:

((I had a bunch of racial slurs here but deleted them because it felt too dirty))

THIS FEELS ILL AND GOOD, LIKE BULIMIA, TRY IT.

I love nielsen

A couple months ago, the Nielsen TV Ratings people sent my "household" a survey that included two dollar bills, "advance compensation" for filling out the short, general survey about your television viewing habits.  

I thought "Wow, nice, sure I'll fill this thing out since they sent me two bucks and all."  And I did.  In the following weeks I received a couple phone calls from what Google revealed to be the Nielsen survey people again.  I never answered, mostly because my instinct when I see a number I don't know is to let it go to voicemail because "aah fuck who the fuck is calling me what do they want aaaah (puts phone under pillow)."  

So, I thought I was done with them until today, when I received a large envelope addressed to "Cool People" (the name I put in on the website when I filled the survey out).  Inside was a kind, informative letter to "Cool," a TV Viewing Diary to fill out over the next week, and $30 cash.

Now I am all like contemplating a career in telling people what television shows I watch.  Can this be done?  I would be very skilled at this work as I have been practicing for most of my life.  

Anyway, thank you kind Nielsen folk.    

The chili pepperis the fruitof the plants fromthe genus Capsicum, whichare members ofthe nightshade family

Ain'othin' that makes one feel attacked by one's own stupidity more than touching your eyes with pepper hands.  I made soup, whose ingredients included chicken and black beans and rice but also included bell peppers and chilis, and I thought I washed my hands well enough but taking out my contacts almost made me scream.

(Then blissful, drunken sleep.)

Then I woke up, having forgotten last night's ordeal, and popped in my right contact lens to blistering hell pain.  Once that died down and I could kind of see through my bloodshot, tear-filled squint-gap, I decided to repeat the same process with the other eye.  

I am filthy.

The cats are hungry.

I can't pay my electricity because I didn't get paid this week.  I hope they don't shut it off.  

was remembering today

I read this book in third grade, and can probably trace any threads of rebellion and dystopian paranoia back to that point.  

It is a good book, read it to your children for I am having none and cannot.

No, let them read it on their own.